


Paragon

by Dragondizzy



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Dwarves, F/F, Orzammar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 16:15:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3698756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragondizzy/pseuds/Dragondizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Branka has always been driven, ambitious and brilliant. All know of her House's demise in the Deep Roads, but what drove her to that end? What was she trying to prove?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paragon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Inver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inver/gifts).



_9:8 Dragon_

“This is about your family, Branka. For once could you think of someone other than yourself?” He scrubbed a hand over his chin, scratching into the thick beard, eyes stern as he glared at her. She wanted to scream that she was, that marrying a drunkard, a cretin, was less vital to the family than her work.

“I am a smith, Father, exactly as you raised me. Let me be that, I need nothing more.” He sighed, shaking his head. The cropped beard was streaked with more silver than she remembered, his face older, tired. Rage burned away any consideration as his expression darkened.

“Oghren is a great warrior, the member of a _House._ It is a sensible match.” He held up a hand to interrupt her protest. “You can still be a smith, no one is taking that away from you. But this marriage is happening, end of story.” Leaving her gaping, he stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him. Shouting with frustration, Branka picked up a tankard, throwing it to shatter against the wall. _I am a_ _ **smith**_ _._ She was close, so _close_ with the coal, why couldn't he just...Another snarl as a second tankard met the same fate as the first. She was more than a sacrifice for status, more than fodder for social climbing.

Gathering her tools, she left the house quickly. Cheeks burned with ire as she hurried to the workshop, people scattering to get out of the way. She needed the familiar space, the soothing smell of fire and smoke. People were too much hassle. Shouldering her way through a crowd, Branka released a huff when she reached the door. Shouldering it open, she snorted as she heard the bustle of a body inside.

“Hespith? You here?”

“Who else would it be? Really now.” A chuckle calmed her anger as she sauntered into the room, carefully placing the tools on the bench. The fire was burning hot already, smoke billowing out through the numerous vents. Everything was perfectly prepared, placed exactly where she liked it. The fury she carried with her ebbed away, calm spreading with deep breaths as she smiled at Hespith. The other woman just shrugged, coy smirk forming as she held out an apron.

“What would I do without you Hes?” Taking the garment, she slung it over her head, tied the cords and picked up her tools. _Today she would succeed._ Today she would prove that their family needs no advantageous marriage, that her skill alone would help them. Grinning as she moved to the anvil, she set to work. Hespith, her father, everything was forgotten as she worked, eyes fixed on the task at hand. _I will succeed_.

 

_9:10_ _Dragon_

The door slammed open, but she didn't flinch. Not looking up, she continued to read, engrossed in the tome.

“Nugs balls Branka! Where the ancestors were you?!” Oghren barged into the room, the usual waft of ale preceding him. How he even managed to be awake, let alone walk some days, she would never know. Sighing, she shut the book with a thud, narrowed eyes scrutinising him. “They made you a _Paragon_ woman. By the stone, you could have at least turned up, or somethin'”

“I don't have time.” He groaned, head falling into a hand.

“Aye, as always. Well, when a stuffy shirt comes to give you an ear full, don't say I didn't warn you.” Raising his gaze, his eyes softened slightly as he shook his head. Turning with a wobble, he staggered out to leave her in peace. 

Running a hand over the large book, she sat back in the chair.  _Paragon_ . No question was she proud, the smokeless coal was a stroke of genius and she deserved the recognition. However, the ridiculous parade of functions, gifts and currying favour was exhausting. A complete waste of her time. As a Paragon, surely she should have the right to be left alone? Cursing under her breath, she stood, tucking the tome under an arm as she left the apartments.

Being made Paragon meant advantage, meant privilege. The House had been consolidated into House Branka, Kondrat forgotten in the rush to bestow status. The family had been moved to the Diamond Quarter, the other noble houses clamouring to meet and befriend the only living Paragon. Branka was having none of it, and kept them at arms length, banning them from her home. Why should she care who she offends.  _I'm not their plaything_ . Her work was still ongoing. If they expected her to stop now, that she had achieved enough, they were sorely mistaken. 

Strolling towards the Shaperate, part of her revelled in the hushed whispers, the looks of awe. Despite still being forced to marry Oghren,  _she_ was the one they spoke about. It was now her House, her name they muttered as she passed. Her father's wish had been fulfilled ten fold, yet she was left with the oafish reminder of his lack of faith.  _No_ . As much she detested Oghren sometimes, he was not at fault. He loved her, she knew. A love that could never be returned, and a small part of her would always pity him.

Sighing as she reached her destination, she heaved open the large stone door. Scholars scurried about, the musty smell of parchment hitting her as she walked forward. It was too quiet, too  _careful_ for her liking. Approaching the Shaper, she raised her chin as his eyes widened.

“P-Paragon, what brings you to the Shaperate?” She slammed the book on the table in front of him, smirking at the glares directed at her from the offensive sound.

“I need everything you have on Caridin.”

 

_9:28 Dragon_

“Branka, please, listen to me.” Hespith wrung her hands, watching, anxious as Branka paced before her.

“This is _my_ House, I can take them where I want.” Her fists were clenched as she walked, teeth grinding as she fought to control her anger.

“But -”

“Hespith, this is the Anvil! Caridin's Anvil! By the stone, the whole of Orzammar should be _begging_ me to go.” She whirled, gripping the scared woman by the shoulders. _Why could no one see?_ This was her chance, she would be the one to save them from the Darkspawn, save Orzammar, change everything. The Anvil was there, it had to be. The fearful expression of her lover was ignored in her excitement, her certainty.

“The whole House, Branka? Why?” She trembled in Branka's tight grasp, but it went unnoticed.

“Because this is _it_ Hes, this is what I've been searching for. The Anvil. _The Anvil_ Hes.” Her eyes were wide, frantic. Nothing would deter her now, she was so close. Releasing Hespith, she started to gather her things, bundling parchment, books and quills into her arms.

“Start packing, tell the others to as well. We're leaving within the week” In her frenzy to prepare, she missed the forlorn nod, the droop of shoulders and the slow shuffle from the room. Anticipation buzzed through her, the thought of being the one to find and master the anvil. She would be revered, forever remembered. Dropping the pile of items on the table, she strode to grab her tools. Gripping them to tightly her chest, she closed her eyes. _She would be away from this place, away from sycophants, away from expectation_. Her path would be set by her, and her alone. This venture was her destiny, and she would see her House brought the glory it deserves.

 

 

 


End file.
